Soft Light
by Chelion
Summary: When the Red Dwarf finds a ruined vessel with one survivor, the question arises, how can you love someone you can never touch? A mature RimmerOC romance. Hopefully. grin
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I've introduced a female character because I honestly don't trust my writing abilities to write the story as a Lister/Rimmer slash without making it cliché and sappy. Because of this, the story will probably go AU, if it hasn't already. I typically don't like AU, but in Red Dwarf's case, it's near impossible to write a story that follows canon perfectly. The series contradicts even itself. The only thing in the series that is constant is the characters' personality traits, so I'm doing my best to keep that aspect true to the original. Let me know how you think I've done. Feedback is always appreciated. :)

Disclaimer: Lister, Rimmer, Cat, Kryten, Holly, the Dwarf and anything else recognizable belongs to Doug Naylor and Rob Grant. Angela is mine, but if they want her, perhaps we can work out a deal? I propose a few hours with a certain character's light bee. -wicked grin- I'm in desperate need of a good Risk opponent...

Is simplicity best

Or simply the easiest

The narrowest path

Is always the holiest

So walk on barefoot for me

Suffer some misery

If you want my love

If you want my love

-Depeche Mode

Chapter 1

Thump thump squeak thump. Squeak squeak thump. Squeek squeek squeeeek.

"Oh, Krissy...Krissy"

Sque-thump-ek.

Arnold Rimmer grimaced and plugged his ears as the bunk above his rattled and shook. Unfortunately, since the two beds were connected, so did his. He glared and kicked the upper bed as hard as he could. His foot, of course, passed right through the bunk, mattress, and the sleep-humping roommate he'd tried to wake. Inability to deliver a well-deserved thumping was one of the many drawbacks to being a hologram.

"Lister!" he yelled.

"Oh, Krissy!" came the empassioned reply.

Rimmer shuddered and got out of bed, suddenly feeling dirty. He glanced at the clock beside his bed. 5:30am. Well, it's always good to get an early jump on the day, he reasoned. He could use the time for an extra Esperanto lesson or study his Risk diary in preparation for Friday's match with Kryten, or...smegging hell, what was he going to do to kill 8 or 9 hours before the cat and Lister woke? If boredom was a city, Red Dwarf was certainly its capitol. He sighed and stood in front of the bunk, hands on his hips. "Shower and a clean uniform, please, Holly."

"Oh, so you're up, then?" replied the computer.

Rimmer rolled his eyes. "No, I just thought the normal routine of getting up first and THEN dressing is too ordinary."

"Fine then," said Holly. "If you're going to give me an attitude first thing in the morning, I won't tell you the news."

"What news?" Rimmer whipped around to face the computer.

"No, I don't think so. She's gone through enough trauma already. Meeting you might do her in."

"Do who in?" Rimmer asked, suddenly very interested.

"Our visitor," Holly answered. "I received her distress call about an hour ago. She's in the landing dock currently."

Rimmer went wide-eyed and his nostrils flared wide enough for his nostrils to be used as an alternate dock. "You took on a foreign vessel without consulting anyone!?" he screeched. "What if she is deranged or infected with some alien virus? How could you put the entire crew at risk like this?" He crossed his arms and tried to look severe, which was somewhat difficult as he was still in his pajamas. "I'll have you decommissioned for this!"

"Alright, if that's what you want," Holly began coyly, "If you think I'm so unfit to run the Dwarf, I'll just load Queeg into the system and let him take over for awhile..."

"NO!" Rimmer squeaked. He cleared his throat to regain his composure. "No, Holly, that won't be necessary. I'm...ah...willing to overlook this slight breach of good judgment..." Rimmer forced a smile. Even a senile computer was better than a sadistic one.

"Besides, there's nothing to worry about," Holly said. "I did a complete scan of her and her vessel and found no traces of infection. And being such a small little pretty thing, I doubt she'd be much of a match for Lister or the cat, even if she were deranged."

Rimmer's eyes lit up at the description of the girl. "Well, I think it's time for an introduction, then, don't you, Holly? A shower, please, and clean uniform. Make that a dress uniform." Rimmer paused and caught his reflection in the mirror. He ran a hand through his untidy curly locks. "And see if you can do something about my hair..."


	2. Chapter 2

Angela Baker wandered around the docking bay. This must be some kind of museum relic, she thought. Her battered Nova Cruiser looked like a sparkling gem among the other shuttles parked in the bay. She read the name on one of them. "Starbug." The name sounded vaguely familiar. She guessed she must have seen it in one of her father's old books on classic space vehicles. _Whoever runs this ship must be quite a collector_, she thought. She reasoned this was good news for her. Anyone with enough cash to not only have such a large collection of relics, but fly them around on an antique, pre-infinity drive ship, must definitely have the means to help her fix her own ruined drive. _Must be quite the weirdo, though, to be the type of person to choose to cruise around on a ship that dated back only shortly after the stone age. _

Suddenly, a door whooshed open and a voice called, "Hello?" She turned toward the source of the voice.

"Over here," she called. From behind the space craft she'd just been studying appeared the owner of the voice. He was a tall man with crazed eyes and wide nostrils, dressed in the full regalia of an admiral. One shoulder hung slightly lower than the other, probably due to the excessive amount of gold cord it carried. As soon as he saw her, he took off his hat and bowed, revealing a head of wild, curly hair.

"Arnold J Rimmer, Space Adventurer, at your service, madam," he said, and gave her an extra crisp, extra sharp, and extra swirly salute.

Perhaps "weirdo" wasn't strong enough a word...

With his hat off, Angela noticed the "H" on his forehead. "You're a hologram?" she blurted.

Rimmer paused. Not exactly how he wanted the conversation to go, but a giant letter between one's eyes is hard to miss. "Yes..." he began. "I died...while attempting to save the crew," he added pompously. "Being such a vital part of the mission, and dying in such a heroic manner, I was brought back as a hologram." Ok, one little embellishment couldn't hurt anything. He attempted to smile in a a charming fashion, achieving a look of strained constipation. "I'm sorry," he continued, "I didn't catch your name..."

Angela cocked an eyebrow. "I didn't give it." She paused and then held out her hand. "Angela Baker." She continued to extend her hand while Rimmer just stood there, staring at it. Then realization dawned on her. He was a soft-light hologram. She drew the hand back and crossed her arms, a puzzled expression on her face as she thought to herself. _Why would a soft-light hologram be on a ship designed for tangible beings? There's no point to it. It couldn't touch anything. _She shook her head and brought herself out of her reverie. Rimmer, meanwhile, continued to stand in front of her, clutching his hat and looking more nervous by the second.

Angela smiled half-heartedly, not wanting the man to be uncomfortable. "Thank you for rescuing me," she said. "As I told your computer, my infinity drive is shot. I've been wandering on reserve power for weeks. By the time you found me, my oxygen was almost out. If you hadn't taken me on when you did, I'd be space junk now." She added, sincerely, "I really owe you one."

Rimmer's nervousness left him to be replaced with false bravado. "Oh, it was nothing, really," Rimmer replied nonchalantly. "I'm just glad we could get to you in time. Of course, we had no way of knowing whether or not you were safe to bring on board, but when I heard your distress call, I said, 'Risks be damned.' It's my personal policy to aid a fellow space traveler in need."

Angela frowned. "You answered the call? Your computer, Holly, said the entire crew was asleep and told me to sit tight until morning. Said he would send along something called a 'skutter' if I needed anything, but that I should otherwise keep quiet." Rimmer shifted uncomfortably. "In fact, he mentioned a certain crew member who he referred to as an "egocentric, H-emblazoned git" who would be utterly unbearable if he were awakened with less than ten hours of sleep."

Rimmer replaced the hat on his head hastily, tilting it downward in an attempt to obscure his forehead. "Yes, well as soon as I was aware of your presence, I demanded that I be woken up straight away," he said briskly. "You must be famished. Come, I will have my mechanoid prepare you something while we discuss your situation." He gestured for her to follow him out of the docking bay. He allowed her to exit ahead of him in a chivalrous manner, and so that he had the opportunity to inspect her from behind. The thought crossed his mind that Holly must really have lost it in the three million years he spent alone. _"Pretty little thing?" _he wondered. _Well, he's got it half right, at least. She's at least two feet shorter than I am. _From behind, she didn't look much better than she did when Rimmer was standing in front of her. She seemed more like Lister's type - dirty, smelly, and unkempt. An elastic band desperately tried to hold a mess of dark hair in a bun, failing miserably and leaving her with a wispy black lion's mane around her face.

Angela suppressed a snicker as they walked down the corridor towards the room where Kryten offlined. Extreme weirdo he might be, but at least this Rimmer fellow would help her, and that was what mattered. "So you think you can have someone take a look at it, then?" she asked, excitedly.

"A look at what?" Rimmer asked, practically marching down the hallway.

"The infinity drive."

"Ah...what's that, again?"

Angela spoke slowly, "The infinity drive? The thing that controls navigation and energy management and every other vital resource on a ship?."

"Er..." Rimmer searched.

"You do know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

Rimmer's palms began to sweat. He hated looking like a fool in front of women, even repulsive women. Of course, he'd found this to be the end result of attempting to talk to women, which was why he was often at a loss for what to say to them. He floundered, "Well, being a space adventurer and...ah...spending so much time...adventuring...through space, I, um...haven't found much time to keep up on the latest technology..."

"Infinity warp has been the standard in space travel for the last couple of centuries."

Rimmer smiled weakly. They had reached the door to Kryten's chamber. The door detected his presence and opened, revealing the mechanoid, who was sitting in a dark room in front of a television, recharge cord plugged into his groinal socket.

"Eh...Kryten?" Rimmer asked pleasantly. The mechanoid's head jerked as he snapped back online. Kryten looked over toward Rimmer.

"Yes, sir?" he said. Then, noticing Angela, he continued, "Ah, I don't believe we've been acquainted." He stood up and began to walk towards the door, forgetting the plug still attached to his abdomen. He stopped and unplugged himself hasily as Rimmer introduced the two.

"Angela, Kryten. Kryten, Angela," Rimmer said wearily.

"A pleasure," Kryten said, stepping into the light.

"Likewise," Angela said insincerely. Her heart began to sink. So she was stuck here on an ancient ship with a mechanoid who looked like he got his head caught in a trash compactor and a hologrammatic weirdo who disdained modernity. Wonderful.


	3. Chapter 3

"So you have no way to repair it?"

Kryten shook his head sadly. He looked as though he were about to burst into tears. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he cried. "Without raw carbonite gas and the proper tools, there's nothing I can do." Though he'd been trying to rise above his programing, it was in his nature to want to please humans. Inability to do this activated the inadequacy subroutine built into his guilt chip and sent him into depression. The only person who didn't have this effect on him was Rimmer. Kryten assumed this was due to either the man's status as a non-human or his smeggy personality.

Angela was torn between laughing out of frustration at the absurdity of the situation and feeling sorry for the poorly-programmed droid. She chose to reach out and squeeze Kryten's hand in consolation. "There, there," she comforted, not sure of what she should say. "It will be ok." She felt like a complete lunatic. In all the possible universes and dimensions, she never would have guessed that she'd be sitting in an officer's club on an ancient ship comforting a manic depressive mechanoid. "This isn't so bad," she lied. "It's very...tidy...and breakfast was wonderful!" She attempted a smile and Kryten appeared to perk up a bit.

"Do you mean that?" he asked.

"Of course," she said, shaking her head. The matter appeared to be settled, so she released Kryten's hand and began a staring contest with her cup of tea. The reality of her situation dawned on her. She knew a reactor in the drive had sprung a leak. Normally this would be a simple thing to fix. You just needed to head over to the nearest repair station and inject the stuff into the reactor coils. Being in deep space made the matter a bit more difficult, and she was relying on finding a vessel with a spare tank and a willingness to help her. This was of course tricky when the only vessel you ran across was built using three million year-old technology. The fact that the nearest planet that produced the necessary gas was over a million light years away made the task damn near impossible. In essence, she was stuck here until they ran across a modern vessel or the Red Dwarf crew got sick of her and kicked her off into deep space, whichever came first. She sighed and stirred the liquid, tugging at the collar of the uniform Kryten had graciously supplied to her. Apparently, it belonged to a dead crew member named Anderson who had been an electronics technician, second class, and also a bit of a tart, as the woman owned nothing but uniforms, skimpy dresses, and lingerie. Unfortunately, she had also been the only person on board with clothes small enough to fit Angela's petite frame. Well, anything was better than the grubby things she'd been wearing since the she'd been denied use of the laundry units on her ship.

Rimmer had been silent throughout most of the meal. He changed his opinion of Angela somewhat after she emerged from the shower. He decided she was reasonably attractive with her dark mulatto features and black hair that hung in wet ringlets down her shoulders. He had plenty of time to watch her as he pretended to follow along with her and Kryten's conversation, keeping quiet in the interests of not making a fool out of himself again. He already was beginning to feel ridiculous in the uniform he wore. His shoulder was beginning to ache and now that Angela and Kryten had finished their conversation, the silence was beginning to make him uncomfortable. He needed to say something. He ran through the possible questions he could pose to Angela as if it were a list of prospective moves in a game of Risk. _'So, tell us about yourself?' No, too vague. 'So, what are your hobbies?' Typical desperate-to-save-a-conversation first date question. Definitely not._ He couldn't ask about the infinity drive because they'd already been through what the thing was and how it worked, although most of it had gone completely over Rimmer's head. Something about traveling from one point to another using nonspace. He glanced at Angela. She was staring into her tea, stirring it slowly, obviously waiting for him to say something. His heartbeat grew faster as the seconds ticked by. Finally he decided to ask the next question that popped into his head.

"So where were you headed when your ship broke down?" Rimmer blurted. He grimaced. _Too personal of a question_, he told himself. _She'll think you're interrogating her._

To Rimmer's surprise, she shrugged and said, "Home." She lifted her head and looked at him with her sad brown eyes. Perhaps it was a result of her melancholy, but they seemed to draw him in, like two amber-flecked black holes. Her mouth formed into a half smile. "I suppose even the bravest of space adventurers get homesick now and then, don't you agree?"

"Not really. More the other way around" Rimmer's expression suggested that he would rather take up permanent residence on the scaffolds used to paint the ship than make a visit to his home and family. "In fact, during a visit home from boarding school, I distinctly remember telling Mother that I wanted my schoolteacher."

Angela giggled. "Sounds like my family. Mum thinks she's the queen and Dad rules his home with an iron fist. It's a good thing we're not real royalty. With as much fighting that goes on between my brothers and sisters, half of us would be missing our heads by now. I supposed that's why I left." Angela stopped stirring her tea and rested her head on her hand, gazing at him. "Is that why you joined the Space Corps, Admiral? To get away from it all?"

Rimmer was taken aback by her use of the title, but then reddened slightly as he realized it was probably due to the lavish costume he was wearing. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Kryten.

"Begging your pardon, ma'am," the mechanoid said, "but you seem to be under the impression that Mr. Rimmer-"

"Aiiiiii" a noise from outside the dining area cut off Kryten's helpful explanation of Rimmer's lowly status. It was Cat, who screeched at he half walked, half danced up to the table. "I knew it!" he declared as he took as seat on the table, placing himself directly in Rimmer's line of view. Cat took Angela's hand and brought it to his lips. "I could smell your loveliness from the other side of this ship. I don't believe we've been introduced, and I just can not allow such a tragedy to continue. You can call me Cat, baby." He dropped the hand and dusted an imaginary piece of lint off his immaculate silver blazer, flashing a fanged grin. Then, just as quickly, the grin faded as he seemed to become suddenly aware of the fact that they were not alone. "What is a pretty little jewel like you doing hanging out with novelty condom head and goalpost head?" He frowned as he glanced at the two head-impaired individuals.

"We were having a conversation!" Rimmer shouted, furious. Unable to move the chair or tilt far enough see around Cat, he opted to stand, glaring at the Cat, arms crossed. Cat jumped up and dance-walked around Rimmer. He struck the pose he deemed to be his personal coolest.

"Well, my kind of conversation involves a lot fewer words!" He yoweled again and danced around the room some more. "How's about I show you why you are the luckiest girl on this ship?" he said to Angela.

She laughed and then yawned suddenly. "I've had a hell of a night," she said, stretching back in the chair. "I should get some rest before I do any more...ah...conversing." She glanced at Cat, who looked like someone had just told him fish were suddenly extinct. Then he grinned again and winked at her.

"Just remember my number, sweet thing. It's C-A-T." He screeched and did a sort of shuffle out of the room.

Angela glanced from Rimmer to Kryten, the look on her face asking the question that didn't need to be voiced.

Rimmer shook his head. "It would take too long to explain," he said, glaring in the direction Cat wandered off into.

"Technically, he is right, ma'am," said Kryten. "You are the luckiest female on board the ship, by default being that you are the only female on this ship."

"Oh?" Angela looked slightly panicked. "How many more of you are there, then?"

"Just one," Rimmer broke in. "Complete slob. Not worth your time. Now then, Kryten," he said, trying to steer the topic away from certain other crew members who loved to humiliate him in front of the opposite sex, "would you mind preparing a room for Miss Baker?"

"Already done," Kryten announced proudly. "I've been keeping several quarters tidy in the event that we do ever have guests on board."

Rimmer raised an eyebrow. "Just how many, out of curiosity?"

"About forty or fifty."

"Do you often have guests that require quarters on the Red Dwarf?" Angela asked.

"No, never," Kryten answered. "Which is why I like to stay prepared."


	4. Chapter 4

Rimmer laid back in his bunk, resting his head on his hands. The clock beside his head read 8:30am, and Lister was thankfully in the middle of a dream that was non-sexual in nature. Rimmer sighed and closed his eyes. He knew what was coming. It was the same thing that happened any time a woman showed the least bit of kindness towards him, "kindness" being defined as not regarding him as equal with space weevil droppings. He supposed it might be different if he'd ever actually had a real relationship with a woman. At least then he'd have some past experience to go on. At it was, all he had was his own imagination, and it was in times like this that his imagination took over. Was it any wonder he had spent most of his life trying to avoid the opposite sex, or at the very least, to see them as no more than colleagues? He even joined the Love Celibacy Society, hoping the group would reinforce his self-control. He wound up, instead of having a normal relationship with Yvonne McGruder, having to sneak their liasion behind the group's back. No, fantasies were dangerous. They had cost him at least one attempt at the astronavigation exam when he spent most of his revision time writing love letters that would never get sent. He had even once nearly stocked fun size candy bars in a gum slot because he had been daydreaming about a female superior technician. He didn't want to imagine the implications of such an error. Foolhardy lovesickness could have cost him his career.

He shifted uncomfortably in the bunk and glanced back at the clock again. 8:33am. There was no way he would be able to get back to sleep after being awake for three hours. He pondered attempting to wake Lister for a moment, but then decided against it. He wasn't quite that desperate for a distraction yet. Perhaps he could go and check on what Kryten was doing. Probably laundry. Or finding a way onto Angela's ship so he could clean it for her while she rested.

Angela. A smile crept onto his lips as her face popped into his mind. The image smiled warmly and leaned in to kiss him.

Gah! What was wrong with him!? He shot up out of bed and paced around the room, mentally scrubbing the thought out of his mind. NO FANTASIES, he told himself, firmly. He glanced frantically around the room for some activity that might keep his mind busy. Finally, he threw his hands up in disgust and stormed out of the room in search of Kryten.

Lister smiled as he fondled his bedsheets obscenely. He sighed contentedly, opening his eyes. He promptly shut them again and then carefully pried open one eye hopefully.

"Smeg," he moaned. He didn't know why he expected to see anything other than the gray wall of his bunk, decorated with photos of his old friends and magazine cutouts and posters of Fiji. He supposed there was always a chance of the ship slipping into a parallel dimension in the middle of the night, where he would find himself married to Kristine Kochanski, being woken up by the sound of waves and the braying of sheep. _Got to keep up at least a small hope, or else you're destined for madness_, he thought. So far it hadn't happened. Maybe tomorrow.

He rolled over to peer down to the lower bunk. Rimmer was up and gone already, so he could officially call it a good morning. He stretched and jumped out of bed. Pulling on the cleanest pair of trousers he found in the pile next to the laundry basket, he glanced toward the lavatory, thought a moment, and decided a shower wasn't necessary. Rimmer was always nagging him about his personal hygiene. _Well, it's easy for him, isn't it?_, he thought. _All he's got to do is say, "Holly, shower," and poof, he's clean. I've got to go through the trouble of finding soap and a towel, turn on the water and do it all myself._ He brought the curry-stained shirt he was wearing to his nose. He could barely smell it. One thing he couldn't forget, though. He stepped up to the mirror and rubbed a finger over his teeth. _There. Perfect._

Lister stretched as he stepped into the dining area. "Morrig, Kyyen," he said through a yawn. "What's for break-" He stopped as he noticed the strange, attractive female sitting at the table, pondering over a cup of coffee. "You're not Kryten," he stated.

"Astute observation," she said, smiling at him wryly. "My name's Angela. I guess I'll be holing up here as long as you'll take me."

Lister gave her a wide grin. "Oh, by all means," he said. "I'm Dave." He walked over to the stove and lifted the lid of a pan to peer inside. "Mmm, curried eggs and chutney. Kryten, you're amazing," he said to no one in particular as he scooped large piles of the eggs onto a plate. He grabbed a lager from the fridge and took a seat across from Angela.

"You must be the slobbish one," she said, noticing the numerous stains on his graying shirt. She immediately smacked her forehead and apologized. "I'm sorry, that was rude. I didn't mean it in a bad way."

"Course not," Lister replied between mouthfuls of curried eggs. "I suppose in some societies, calling someone a slob is almost as good a compliment as 'vile, scum sucking pig. I think it's that way in America." He smiled to show he wasn't offended. "I take it you've met Rimmer, then?"

"Oh, you mean the Admiral?"

Lister choked on his eggs. "Admiral? Oh yeah, that's him alright. Admiral Arnold I. M. A. Fish Rimmer." He did a imitation of Rimmer's silly salute and laughed. "We call him Smeg Head for short."

Angela giggled, enjoying the lighter mood Lister's company was putting her in. "Oh, he doesn't seem so bad," she said. "I thought he was kind of sweet."

"Yeah, well watch out if he tells you you've got something in your eye," Lister warned.

"I'll keep an eye out," she replied. She smiled again. It was good to have someone to laugh with after what she had been through the last couple of weeks. She was still trying to shake off the fact that she had nearly died.

"So why are you here, then?" Lister asked, forcing Angela to recount the tale again. She sat back in her chair and explained how one of the coils in the infinity drive had burst, and how she had been drifting ever since.

"The last few hours before your computer answered my call were the worst," she said. "I was running on emergency back-up, and almost completely out of power. I don't know how many hours or minutes of oxygen I had left. I don't know how much the message I sent drained what little power I had left. I don't want to know. I've never been afraid of death before, but I guess that changes once you come so close to it." She paused, stopping to hug her arms against her chest as a shiver ran through her body. "Holly, answered me and took me on board. I had no idea who I'd find on this vessel, or if there were any living beings at all. I'm just glad that you all are here. The thought of being alone in a ship again frankly chills me to the bone."

Lister wasn't sure what to say to that. He touched her arm in consolation. His hand felt so warm and soft against her skin. She smiled and closed her eyes, placing her hand over his. She wanted to say, "Thank you," but the words wouldn't come out. Instead, as tears welled up in her eyes, she squeezed his hand. Even without the words, he understood.


	5. Chapter 5

Rimmer's holo-simulated heart was racing, sending his T-count through the roof. He barely breathed as his eyes locked onto Angela's. He knew what he had to do. His fate lay in the decision he was now faced to make. He had repeated his strategy over and over in his head, and yet when it came down to it, he wasn't sure if he had what it took to go through with it. _No,_ he thought. _I must. This is the only opportunity I will have. It's now or never._ He steeled his nerves. With careful, measured words, he stated his intentions.

"Egypt is attacking the Middle East. How many dice will you roll to defend yourself?"

Angela returned Rimmer's stare. She cocked an eyebrow and picked up a die. "One," she replied, coolly. This act of foolhardiness earned a sharp inward gasp from Rimmer and frantic words of advice from Kryten. Lister, meanwhile, let out a loud belch from his bunk across the room as he flipped through a magazine.

"But ma'am," Kryten protested, "you are allowed a maximum of two dice! As Mr. Rimmer is rolling three to attack, I highly suggest that you-"

"I know what the rules are," she said, keeping her eyes on Rimmer's. "I choose to play by my own." It was all she could do to keep from laughing as she played the part of the bravado. She had a feeling the game meant much more to Rimmer than to her, judging by the notes he would mark in a little book after each throw. Well, if he wanted them so badly, she'd give him some strategy board game stories he could tell his grandchildren.

Rimmer's mouth went suddenly dry. "As a great general once said, 'Never interrupt your enemy when she is making a mistake." He threw the dice, watching with anticipation as they bounced and rolled to a halt. A 3...1...and a 5! He was home free! He motioned for Angela to roll. She dropped the dice casually onto the board. Several antagonizing moments later, the little plastic block stopped it's jumping descent, coming to a final rest.

It was a 6. Rimmer stared at the little dots in disbelief. She had beaten him with one die. He slumped back into his chair. "I concede," he muttered. He was answered with the sound of gentle laughter.

Angela was laughing at him! He felt his cheeks burn as he stared with determination at a spot on the floor. Why hadn't he realized that it had been a bad idea to invite her to his and Kryten's weekly Risk game? Women didn't like wars and strategy. They liked chocolate and watching the sort of movies that turn your minds to pools of jelly. Napoleon would never had brought Josephine into the command room.

"Arnold? Are you ok?" Rimmer looked up to see Angela staring at him, a concerned look in her eyes. Her lips were pushed into a frown. "Sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to gloat. It's just that this is the first real fun I've had in awhile." She smiled. "I'm really glad you asked me to play."

"You are?" Rimmer's eyebrows shot up.

"Yeah. I'm afraid I wasn't entirely honest with you, though," she said, biting her lip. "I'm not exactly the novice I let on to be. I used to play Risk with my brothers all the time back home. It's one of my favorite board games."

"It is?" Rimmer asked incredulously. Angela nodded.

"Maybe the two of you can share stories from your Risk diaries, then," came Lister's voice from his bunk. "Collaborate in world board domination. You could call it 'Operation Milton Bradley.'"

Rimmer glanced over at him. "Big words, Listy, coming from a man who had difficulty conquering Dr. Seuss."

"Well, at least I didn't use it as an astronavigation revision guide," Lister shot back. "Tell me, Rimmer, does light speed protocol involve one fish, two fish, red fish, or blue fish?"

"Is that what the little book is? A Risk diary?" Angela broke in, giving Rimmer a puzzled look. Rimmer felt his cheeks grow hot. It was the same old routine that Lister felt obliged to perform every time Rimmer was getting on well with a female. Cut him down to make himself look better. You'd think he would have been immune to it by now.

Rimmer picked up the little holographic book and shoved it into his breast pocket. "Just a few notes," he mumbled. "To look back upon and study for for future strategies." _Did that sound pathetic?_ he wondered. _Yes, most definitely_.

"Rimmer keeps detailed notes on every game of Risk he's ever played," Lister joked. "Just in case Napoleon calls and asks him to be his second-in-command. If you're lucky, maybe he'll read it to you. Then he might stop torturing the rest of us with it."

Angela looked toward Lister. He was lying in the bed with a smirk on his face, clearly enjoying torturing his roommate. She felt a little bad for the guy, the way everyone seemed to gang up on him, but he did kind of bring it on himself. A diary of Risk games? She had to admit she thought it was pretty silly, too, and she wanted to laugh, but the look on Rimmer's face told her it would probably be a bad idea. Instead, she ventured, "Well, I've heard of top chess players doing the same thing. Writing down mistakes so they don't make them again and all that." She'd heard of no such thing, actually, but it seemed like a nice thing to say. She hoped no one asked for names because she honestly couldn't think of the names of any chess players at the moment. Luckily, no one did.

Rimmer's eyes met hers. He was giving her an odd, investigative look, and she felt a knot quickly tie and untie itself in her stomach. _Did I just offend him?_ she wondered. The stare lasted another moment, and then Rimmer spoke, "You see, Listy? Those who do not study the past are doomed to repeat it. All the great minds realize it." His nostrils flared as he looked toward his roommate, a smirk playing across his mouth.

Angela had to get out of there. She stood up quickly, bumping the table as she did, sending a few calvalry pieces scattering across the board. "Well, I'm beat," she said, stretching. "I'm going to make myself some warm milk and then get to bed. See you guys in the morning." She waved and then headed down to the kitchen.

Rimmer's mind wandered as he lay in bed that night. _Did she really defend me?_ he wondered. He knew he really didn't need anyone to fight his battles for him. He was now more than used to constantly justifying his actions to everyone, usually in the form of a snide remark dripping with sarcasm. Why did he keep a diary of a board game? Why did he constantly attempt the astronavigation exam after failing so many times? Why did he continue to adhere to the rules of the space corps even though the entire corps now consisted of Lister and himself? Because he just did. These little traits that seemed completely normal to him were deemed eccentric by everyone else. So? What is normal? Is it normal to eat one's own toenail clippings? Is it normal to spit-shine one's laundry? Rimmer didn't think so. So why was he considered the abnormal one?

Rimmer sighed and turned to lay in a different position. He didn't like the direction his thoughts were taking him. He thought of Angela again, picturing her soft, dark eyes and ringlets of dark hair that framed her olive-toned face. She wasn't beautiful, not the way models or celebrities are beautiful. But, as it is with many women who lack flawless beauty, she had a smile that made her face come alive. Rimmer's body went warm as he remembered her eyes shining at him in that smile from a few hours ago. He heard her soft laughter in his mind and hugged his arms close to his body, sighing peacefully. The idea of being in her arms right then was too wonderful to refuse. He allowed himself one small fantasy as he fell asleep.

_Rimmer was standing in his quarters. Lister was gone...somewhere. It didn't matter at the moment. the only thing that mattered was the letter in his hand. He ran his thumb over the smooth paper. Real, physical touch. He glanced up at his face in the mirror and smiled at his plain, normal forehead._

_"Well, are you going to open it?"_

_Rimmer turned around sharply. Lounging on the chairs by the window was Angela, dressed in a short, satin dress in a light shade of green that shone against her dark skin. Her eyes were glowing with love for him. Love, and eager anticipation. A hint of white appeared at her mouth as she bit her lips from the tension._

_But Rimmer wasn't tense. He didn't even need to open the envelope to know what it said. Still, he wanted to read it. This was the moment he'd waited for his entire life. Slowly, he broke the seal on the envelope and read the letter inside._

_"Dear Mr. Rimmer," it read. "We are pleased to tell you that you have passed your astronavigation exam. You are hereby promoted to navigation officer, first class. Enclosed are your pips and insignia."_

_He looked into Angela's anxious eyes and gave her a smile. "I did it," he said, simply. "I'm an officer."_

_She shrieked, jumped off the couch, and threw her arms around him, her lips meeting his in a passionate kiss. He treasured the feel of her warm body. His hands frantically tried to memorize every curve of her back, down to her round, firm bottom. She leaned into his shoulder and made little kisses along his neck, whispering in his ear, "I am so proud of you, Arnie. I love you." She leaned back a little to stare into his eyes. Suddenly, her lips were on his again, her tongue stroking his gently. One hand worked its fingers through his short brown curls while the other struggled to undo the buttons on his uniform. Finally, she succeeded in pulling off the light brown shirt he would never have to wear again. With a wicked grin, she pulled him to the floor._


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: "Bye Bye Blackbird" belongs to Henderson-Dixon and "Someone to Watch Over Me" belongs to George Gershwin. And of course, I don't own any of the Dwarf stuff either.

"I believe that, after all this time, my presence on the Red Dwarf is finally having a positive effect on the crew," Kryten said to Angela as she helped him fold a sheet. "For months, they showed no interest whatsoever in proper housekeeping, leaving me to enjoy the cleaning duties all by myself, and now I have received help with the laundry twice in one week. It's marvellous!" The mechanoid dumped a hamper full of Lister's dirty socks into a laundry unit and beamed.

Angela took a seat in front of one of the dryers, watching the clothes inside tumble. She had always felt bad about keeping service droids. It didn't seem right to create a complex, thinking machine, give it a personality and basic life drives, and then condemn it to a life of doing all the household drudgery that its creators were too lazy to do themselves. So, she offered to help Kryten with a few of his cleaning duties, although he refused to share his special floor scrubbing time with anyone. He said he was the only one who could polish the drab gray floors to their proper level of shine.

"Oh?" she said noncommittally, glad the conversation had shifted from the lecture on how to correctly fold a pair of underwear, "who's been helping you, then?"

"Mr. Rimmer, ma'am," Kryten responded enthusiastically. "Although he wasn't much help, being a hologram and unable to touch anything, but it is the thought that counts. We had a delightful morning, full of camaraderie and knowledge-swapping. He taught me a few Morris dancing steps and I shared my secret method for removing curry stains from linen."

"Rimmer?" Angela asked with a snort. "Why did he come down here? He doesn't seem like the housewifey type. Or the helpful type, for that matter."

"He said that he needed to do something to keep his mind off the woman he had just met in the-" Kryten stopped. "Oh dear. I promised him I wouldn't say anything." Kryten's mouth twisted into an exaggerated frown. "Shame mode. Oh, I am worthless," he cried. "I have betrayed Mr. Rimmer's trust! I have inadvertently divulged a confidential statement in which Mr. Rimmer described how he would like to see you in various forms of undress, and actions he would then take if he had a tangible body! I have-"

"Kryten!" Angela yelled, turning red. She jumped up and put her hands on the mechanoid's shaking shoulders. "That's enough!" Kryten looked at her with an expression of pained guilt.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't know what came over me."

Angela put her arm around his shoulders, an idea forming in her mind. "There, there," she cooed, smiling sweetly. "You haven't broken anyone's confidence. You've only told me, and if I don't tell anyone, it's like you haven't told anyone at all."

"B-but..." Kryten looked like he was about to cry again. "Mr. Rimmer specifically said that no one should know. He added that if I told you about his fantasies involving yourself, he would have me disassembled and rebuilt into a garbage disposal unit."

"But he doesn't know you've told me!" Angela's smile grew wider. "And if I act like I don't know, it's like not having told me at all!"

Kryten thought about this. "I suppose that makes sense," he said after a moment. Angela nodded. Kryten looked around to make sure no one else could hear. Then he pulled Angela into a close huddle. "This is great!" he whispered. "I've been dying to share this with someone!" The mechanoid stifled a laugh and then began, "Ok, get this...he told me that he wants to..."

----

Angela stood outside the door to Rimmer and Lister's quarters, wondering if she had the nerve to go on with her idea. It always happened to her this way. She'd get ideas she thought were brilliant, and then overanalyze them as she set them into motion, so that by the time she got around to going through with them, they seemed so completely stupid that she'd just scrap the whole plan. If the things Kryten told her about Rimmer were true, she was pretty sure he'd appreciate her efforts. But on the other hand...

Before she got to thinking about the other hand, Angela touched the panel and the door slid open. It was just as she suspected. Rimmer was lying lazily on his bunk watching some video on the viewscreen. "Off," he said to the program as soon as he saw her. "You could have knocked," he said, looking as though he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't.

"Sorry," Angela said. "Can I come in?" Rimmer shrugged and she stepped into the room, setting the tray, glass, and bottles of various liquids she was carrying on the table. "Lister said you usually hang around here at mealtimes. I thought you might like some company," she said, gesturing towards the tray. "Plus, I don't know how many times I'm going to have to tell Cat that I'm not interested. That guy just doesn't take no for an answer."

"Yes, well, certain cuts must be made to achieve a vocabulary that can be counted on two hands" Rimmer said, staring at the top of his bunk. "He probably doesn't know the word." He looked over to Angela, and upon noticing the tray, glared at it menacingly. "What is that?" he asked.

"Pam Baker Chicken, garlic potatoes and beans," Angela answered brightly.

Rimmer sighed in exasperation. "Has it occurred to you that the reason I stay here," he said with irritation in his voice, "is because I can't eat?" He tapped the letter between his eyes. "So you thought it would be fun to eat your dinner in front of me just to remind me of the fact?"

Angela blinked. She hadn't expected an angry outburst, although she supposed she couldn't blame him. She'd be upset if she had to sit and watch people eat while she couldn't, even if it was night after night of different types of curries. "No!" she protested. "I thought we could have dinner together!" Rimmer opened his mouth to explain, in small words, why this was impossible, but Angela continued, "Holly? You remember that favor I asked of you earlier? Mind setting it up now?"

"Sure thing, love," came the computer's voice as his head appeared on the viewscreen. As soon as he said it, another silver tray, place settings, and glass appeared on the table. To her surprise, Holly dimmed the lights and produced two tall, white taper candles, making her blush. She hadn't asked for the dinner to be candlelit, but she had to admit it was nice.

"Thanks, Holly," she said. The computer winked and then disappeared.

Rimmer looked at the table, up to Angela, and then back at the table again, unable to speak. Angela grinned and took a seat. "Well, are you going to just lay there or are you going to join me?" she asked, her heartbeat picking up. She watched the man intently. To her relief, Rimmer slowly got up and sat in the metal chair opposite Angela. He lifted the lid of his tray dubiously. It looked like mashed potates, baked beans, and chicken covered with cheese, onions, and mushrooms. The aroma of the meal wafted up to his nose and he breathed in deeply, a look of bliss coming to his face as he savored the scent. Angela smiled with the excitement of one who has just gotten someone the perfect present. "It's holographic, all of it," she gushed. "Go on, have a taste." She waved a hand at him, studying his expression.

Rimmer slowly cut into the chicken and lifted a bite to his mouth, not sure what to expect. It was marvelous. It tasted just like real, juicy, tender chicken, or at least what he thought he remembered chicken tasted like. He closed his eyes and sighed as he chewed that first delicious bite. He was in heaven. At some point, he remembered Angela was still in the room. She looked like an angel who could barely contain her joy, smiling at him with the widest, toothiest grin he had ever seen on a human being. "You like it, then?" she asked with a small giggle.

"I love it!" Rimmer said as he took a bite of mashed potato. "How did you do it?"

Angela finally took the lid off her own tray and answered. "Well, I had to ask Holly if it was even possible, and it wouldn't be if it weren't for the fact that there are only five of us aboard the ship. He had to shut off life support to half of the ship in order to generate the power to make something so elaborate. And then it was just a matter of giving him the recipes." She tested a bite of chicken for herself. It was just how she remembered her mother making it. Perfect. She hoped Holly's version was as good. "Some of my grandma's old recipes," she explained. "Although I said nothing about candles. Holly made the setting a little more romantic than I asked him to." She blushed and then added quickly, "Not that I mind it or anything. It's...nice."

"You did all this...for me?" Rimmer asked in disbelief. He took a sip of wine. Chardonnay with a dash of spritzer. She had even made his favorite drink. He was sure it was just the alcohol going to his head, but he felt his eyes moisten a bit. No one had ever done anything so nice for him. On his 7th birthday, he had even had to bake his own birthday cake, along with write the invitations, organize the entertainment, and blow up the balloons. No one had shown up and he wound up having to let the clown go early so his brothers could use the lawn to play football. To make matters worse, it was meant to be a surprise party. People did not normally go out of their way to make Arnold Rimmer happy.

"I thought you'd enjoy it, Arnold," she said, instinctively reaching a hand across the table. She realized what she was doing and pulled it back, not wanting to spoil the illusion by inadvertently passing her hand through his arm. She wasn't quick enough, however, and he stared for a moment at the space where her hand had been with a touch of sadness in his eyes. "I wanted to talk to you," she said quickly, changing the subject. "Get to know you. Lister and the cat are going to see a movie after dinner, so we'll have the place to ourselves for awhile."

The conversation they had over dinner was the easiest Rimmer remembered having with a woman since his brief encounter with Yvonne McGruder. Not wanting to delve too deeply into the hell that was growing up on Io, he told her about his service in the Space Corps, the Hammond Organ Owners Society, and how he won his two swimming certificates. He was certain he was boring her, but she listened and carried on with him. She told him about her upbringing. Her parents were divorced, she said, and she'd spent the first 10 years of her life in Rhode Island, moving down to Louisiana to live with her mother, brother, and two sisters after the divorce. At some point, she produced a bottle of something called 'tequila,' and convinced him to try a shot, simulated by Holly, of course. It tasted like formaldehyde and socks. He was certain that the computer had gotten it wrong until he smelled the stuff that was in her shotglass. He'd already had a glass and a half of wine even before the tequila and was pretty tipsy, but after the shot and something called a 'margarita,' he was completely pissed. Fortunately, so was she, having downed half the bottle of Jose Cuervo. It was at about her fourth or fifth shot that she spotted Lister's guitar.

"Ooh, issat yers?" she asked, her Louisiana accent thick with drunkenness.

"No. S'Lisster'ss," he replied. "Smegger can't play t'save his sslife."

"Here, lemme try," she said, grabbing the instrument. "Wha' kinda music ya like?"

Rimmer thought for a moment. "You know any Reggie Wilson?" he asked. She shook her head. Rimmer was aghast. "You don't know Reggie Wilson!?" he asked drunkenly. "The mann's sa genius! Here, lemme put on a tape-"

"Waitaminute," she said, cutting him off. "I want to play something." She thought a moment, and then began to strum softly, singing,

Pack up all my care and woe

Here I go, singing low

Bye bye blackbird

Where somebody waits for me

Sugar's sweet, so is he

Bye bye blackbird

No one here can love or understand me

Oh what hard luck stories they all hand me

Make my bed and light the light

I'll arrive late tonight

Blackbird, bye bye

Rimmer forgot all about Reggie as he listened to her sing. Her voice was a little scratchy, but sweet, reminiscent of his Tori Amos albums, and it accompanied the guitar nicely. In his drunken stupor, he could not remember hearing anything so beautiful. He told her so when she finished. And then he asked her, breathlessly, "Do you know 'Someone to Watch Over Me?'" She did, and she began to play the song. His song. That he wished he could make "their" song.

About halfway through, he was overcome by a strong desire to lie down. A part of him told himself that he was being incredibly rude, but the part that he had doused in tequila told that part to smeg off, and he rolled onto the mattress anyway.

Angela developed the habit of singing with her eyes closed long ago, especially when the song was slow and she had enough alcohol in her to make her face numb. When she strummed the last chord, she opened her eyes to see Rimmer lying in bed with a peaceful smile on his lips. Her inhibitions gone, she leaned forward to give him a kiss on the cheek, losing her balance and landing with a thump on the mattress. She put her hands on her head, trying to shake the strange buzzing out of her ears. It took her a moment to realize the buzzing was Rimmer, and that she was lying with her head stuck in his chest. She pulled back quickly, shocked. Rimmer stirred slightly, but seemed to still be asleep. Out of morbid curiosity, she waved her hand through him again. "Too weird," she muttered. She stuck her hand deeper into him, to the point where his liver should have been.

Rimmer's eyes fluttered open. His gaze traveled down to his abdomen and then back up to Angela. "Having fun?" he asked.

Angela shrieked and pulled away. "I...um...I just was trying to..." she stuttered, completely mortified.

"What am I to you? A toy? A science experiment?" he demanded. "Would you like me to do some parlour tricks to amuse you? "Walk through walls, float between floors, that sort of thing?" Angela sat back, unable to speak. Waves of hurt washed over Rimmer. He glared at Angela for a moment, and then rolled over so he was facing the wall of the bunk. He swallowed deliberately in an attempt to control his voice. "I think we should call it a night," he said in a level tone. After years of practice, it wasn't hard for him to hide his emotions from her. Hot tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to send his body into convulsive sobs, but he kept his breathing regular and his shoulders still.

"I'm sorry," Angela said. Rimmer was motionless. She opened her mouth to try explain herself, but she couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't make her sound like an insensitive idiot. So she shook her head and left.

After the door slid shut, Arnold Rimmer finally let the emotions take over. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so hurt. Rejection, humiliation, he was used to. But at least the people who had let him down in the past had the common decency to insult him from the very start. They hadn't tried to act like they cared about him. They hadn't tried to make him feel like he was someone special before they ripped his heart out. HIs chest ached and his face burned as he recalled the evening. The image of Angela's laughing, smiling form appeared in his mind and he violently pushed it out of his mind. He never wanted to see her again.


	7. Chapter 7

Angela woke to the gentle humming of a vacuum cleaner. The noise pounded in her head like a rusty chainsaw. Groggily, she blinked her eyes and turned to the source of the sound. Kryten loomed over her like a giant, blocky vulture ready to strike. "Good morning, ma'am," he said pleasantly. "Just doing my weekly guest quarters vacuuming. I tried not to wake you."

Angela told the droid it was too early for any kind of cleaning, especially loud cleaning. She didn't take into account the dryness of her mouth or the speed at which the room was spinning before she spoke, however, and it came out, "Unngh."

Diva Droid Inc was a multi-trillion pound corporation with offices and retail stores throughout the solar system. The company had somewhat humble beginnings, however, having grown out of a a small office complex in Dublin, Ireland, and as such, Kryten's programmers had had the good foresight to program him with Hangoverish. He understood perfectly. "Begging your pardon, ma'am," Kryten responded. "I will put off this room until you have had a chance to recover. How does Thursday sound?"

"Gugh," Angela replied affirmatively, and then sat up, rubbing her eyes. She immediately flopped back down again, pulling the covers over her head.

Kryten frowned. He had waited all morning and half the afternoon to ask Angela about last night, and he could not contain himself any longer. He pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down, staring at her expectantly. After a moment, Angela sensed the mechanoid's close presence and pulled the covers down gingerly. She looked up into Kryten's beaming face.

"So, how did your date go?" he asked as soon as their eyes met.

Angela thought a moment, and then said finally, "Toilet."

Kryten was confused. Did this mean the date had gone badly? If so, why didn't she just say so? "Toilet" was certainly an odd expression to use to describe...well, anything apart from a toilet.

Luckily, the toilet was not confused by her statement, and it swiveled around from its hiding place in the wall. Angela stumbled out of the bed and collapsed next to the porcelain fixture. She threw up.

After several minutes of vomiting and resting only to vomit some more, she finally pushed the switch that sent the toilet back into the wall to flush. She stood up weakly, grabbed one of the emergency lagers she'd gotten from Lister and flopped onto the bed. Kryten was still looking at her, waiting for her to elaborate. She sighed.

"Horrible," she said finally. "Worst night I ever had in my life." She took a sip of the lager, and, lacking a nearby table, handed the can to Kryten. Rolling over, she buried her head in the pillow.

Being programmed to serve an all female crew, Kryten was well prepared to deal with distraught women. He patted her shoulder reassuringly. "Now don't cry," he said. "Any man would be lucky just to get the chance to spend an evening with you. You are a beautiful, strong, independant woman. You can do better than that-" Kryten prepared himself to deliver the ultimate insult, "smeeeg...smeeg heeeed."

"No!" Angela sobbed. "Arnold was wonderful!" She sat up and leaned against the head of the bunk. Tears were streaming down her face. "It was me...all me...I'm an idiot." She hugged her knees and rocked back and forth gently until the motion started to make her dizzy again.

Kryten paused, his processors working overtime to compile the information. "Perhaps I am mistaken," he said finally. "You did spend the evening with Arnold **Rimmer** last night, didn't you, ma'am?" Angela nodded. "Arnold **Judas** Rimmer, Second Technician aboard the JMC vessel Red Dwarf?" Kryten asked for clarification.

Angela glared at him. "Yeah, why?" she asked, irritated.

Kryten's processors threatened to overheat due to excessive use. "Just attempting to correlate the terms 'Arnold' and 'wonderful' into the same sentence," he replied. "It's causing a massive syntax error...overriding..." The mechanoid convulsed as sparks flew out of his ears. Finally he went calm again. "Done," he announced.

Angela rolled her eyes. "Funny," she muttered, unaware of the possible serious permanent damage she could have caused to the service droid. She sighed and shook her head. "I don't know why I did what I did. You know when you're drunk...really drunk...and the stupidest things just amaze you to no end?" Kryten did not. He nodded anyway, having found it was easier to just agree with women than ask them to explain every little thing. Angela continued, "And you know how when it's really foggy out and you can't see your hand two feet in front of you, and you stand out in the cold for 20 minutes moving your hand around, watching it appear and reappear in front of your face?" Kryten nodded again. "Yeah, to sum it up, holograms don't like to be treated like a London morning." This summed up absolutely nothing for Kryten, but again, he nodded anyway.

Angela looked at Kryten searchingly. "Do you think he'll forgive me?"

"Are you asking me if Mr. Rimmer is the type of person to hold a grudge?" Kryten asked.

"Tell me he isn't!" Angela pleaded.

"Ah," Kryten said, relieved that he wouldn't have to give Angela bad news. "Lie mode. I'm sure he has forgotten about it already." He gave her a reassuring smile.

Angela dropped her head into her knees and wept. "So that means he is, doesn't it?" she breathed. She turned her red, puffy eyes back up to Kryten. "And I'll never get a chance to know him better. And you want to know the worst of it?" Kryten nodded, assuming she would tell him regardless, based on his past experiences. Angela sniffled and continued, "Promise not to tell anyone?"

Kryten held up his hand. "Your secret is safe with me, ma'am."

"I think..." Angela hesitated, wiping her eyes. "I think I'm falling in love with him."


End file.
